The Called
by kingdomskeys
Summary: They work from the shadows, at the beck and call of an evil goddess. Who are they? They have been Called. Merle's been betrayed by Blake while betraying the Guard...where does that leave her?
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

"Merle, come on!" calls a nine-year-old boy. It is late, but he has something important he wants to show his friend.

"I'm coming!" the little girl says impatiently as she catches up to him. "What is it you want to show me _now_, Dillon?"

His green eyes, so like hers, sparkles with excitement. "Just wait!" It is her eighth birthday and he is determined to give her something. His parents—or father, rather—have neither ever cared nor noticed his own birthdays, so he had no reason to believe they would remember his friend's. He has contented himself with showing her the biggest and most important thing in his life.

Merle follows him into the woods, where they wander for ten or so minutes. "Dillon?" she asks nervously. "Are we lost?"

"No!" Suddenly, he breaks into a run. "Come _on_, Merle, we're almost there!"

"Wait up!" She starts running, too, quickly catching up with him. "What are you—?" She stops dead. Standing in the clearing in the woods, right in front of her, is the most beautiful woman Merle has ever seen. She is tall, with long, bloodred hair that frames her pale face, flawless skin, and purple lips. The woman smiles gently at Merle's shock.

"Hello, Merle," she says in a lovely, textured voice. "It's nice to finally meet you. Bastian—you know him as Dillon—has told me so much about you."

Merle gulps, her throat suddenly dry. "Has…he?"

"Yes. Do you know, he and I know about a secret world. Would you like to hear about it?"

Merle nods slowly. If Dillon knows about it, then it can't be bad, right? "What's your name?" she asks innocently.

The woman laughs. "How silly of me to forget! I am called Lathenia."

* * *

Ooh...so this fic, not counting the Prologue, is partially simultaneous with, but mostly post- The Key. I started off wondering what would go on in the minds of people dedicated to the Order, and, well,this fic was born. Get ready to see the dark half of the time-traveling teens... 


	2. The Beginning

Okay, so this chapter is only going up so quickly because the prologue is so short. The others won't be up this quickly. Um...what else...I'm glad you all like the idea so much! Just a warning--while Merle may be important, she is not your typical Guardians of Time fanfic heroine. Keep that in mind.

Only Merle, Lonan, and the plot belong to me**

* * *

Chapter One**

Merle Sullivan brushes back a lock of her silken dark hair impatiently. Eagerly, she watches the sphere that lights the darkened room. Her Lady is fighting, and valiantly, against the forces of her wicked brother. Merle gloats at the thought of their imminent victory. Soon, very soon—what! Merle blinks once, twice, thrice—but that does not change the image the sphere now projects. Her Lady, the one Goddess whom she'd pledged to follow until the bitter end—dead? No, it couldn't be, not her, _surely not Lathenia?_ True, Lorian could be dead, but _Lathenia_?

It couldn't be.

"Ciara."

Slowly, unwillingly, Merle drags her gaze from the sphere. "Lonan," she croaks. "Surely—it cannot be—Lathenia is not—not _dead_?"

Even from the shadows, Merle can feel his grimace.

"Lorian and Lathenia are both dead. The battle has been lost, the Prophecy fulfilled."

"No. No. The Prophecy was wrong—did it not change? Did our excursions into the past mean nothing?"

"Oh, the Prophecy has most certainly changed. In our favour, of course."

Merle breathes a sigh of relief. "Truly? What does it say?"

"That is for another time. You have been named as the Lady's successor, as I'm sure you well know."

"Yes…but of course, Keziah will not linger on Earth for much longer."

"I bring to you directions from Keziah and the Lady herself." He holds out a scroll.

Swiftly, Merle grabs and unfurls it. She squints against the darkness. "It says…'_For when the Prophecy is fulfilled—for you know it will be, Merle. You must bring all of the Called together. Together, your powers will be equal to that of the Named, for, even with Lorien's gift, they are down two. Also, do not forget, I have endowed each of you with a gift of your own._'" Merle remembers that day well. Shortly after storming out of the fateful meeting with Lorien, Lathenia had immediately given her most elite Ordersmen—the Called—a gift that essentially gave them each a third skill. "'_The Called must continue to go back into the past, wreaking as much havoc as possible, but do not be rash, for unskilled destruction can only bring about the end of the Order. However, before you start any of this, _you must go to Veridian._ Get the Prophecy—you can translate it later. Go soon, for the Guard will not expect an attack so soon. They will be celebrating; their security will be lax. Once you have the Prophecy, everything will start to fall into place. Take only one other with you. Keziah will open the path into Veridian for you, as he once did for Marduke. Be careful. You cannot be caught; this is a crucial mission. Lathenia, Goddess of Chaos and Life._'"

Merle looks up. "Lonan, will you come with me?"

"Of course. And the Called—?"

"Let us do nothing yet. Many of them don't even know that they are Called. We can deal with them later. First, we need to go after the Prophecy."

"Now? What about the troops?"

She flips her hand dismissively. "Keziah can handle them. Surely the old mage can handle them without us two _humans_ present."

"Ciara—fine. We can go. But just one thing."

"Yes?"

A smile flickers across Lonan's face. "Don't call me by the name She gave me. Call me Blake."

"Fine, Blake. Call me Merle."

* * *

Yeah, they do talk very...in a stiff manner, but that's on purpose because they're so high up. Also, when I say Lathenia gave them a gift that's basically a third skill, I mean like, say, Isabel's gift of sight in all and any light. While it's only a gift, in day to day life, it's a very useful one that is basically a skill. 


	3. Veridian

Woohoo, quick updates! Yes, I'm having so much fun with this fic. ;)

Only Merle, Blake, and the plot belong to me; the rest goes to that genius, Marianne Curley.

Oh, and thanks to NCCJellybean for beta-ing and giving me a little idea for how to get the Prophecy...**

* * *

**

**Chapter Two**

Merle watches as Blake runs a hand through his red hair, frustrated. Really, she couldn't blame him. He and Merle had been expressly forbidden by the Goddess to fight the "final battle"—her most elite soldiers shunted to the sidelines! Then, while trying to absorb the seemingly impossible information that, in spite of everything, they'd _lost_, they are ordered on a dangerous mission into a flooded ancient city to retrieve a piece of priceless information. Things are just peachy, aren't they?

"So, we're in," she says. "What now?"

"Um," Blake fumbles with the parchment—who used _parchment_ anymore?—given to them by Keziah in the darkness. "It says…okay, this is actually the front way of going, which is usually full of traps, but because of the water, all of the enchantments and tricks have been taken off. It's only a matter of _finding_ the Prophecy and not drowning."

"Cheerful. This is almost too easy."

"We only _destroyed_ the city, Merle."

Merle sighs. "I know. I don't have to worry about drowning, thanks to my skills. What about you?"

"What _are_ your skills?" he asks curiously.

Merle pauses, unsure whether or not to divulge the information. While Blake is a great Ordersman, with whom she's worked for years, she knows that he, like anyone in the Order, would probably exploit any weakness of hers if it would help him. In the Order, the only one to whom anyone ever held any allegiance was to Lathenia. Now it must be Merle.

"Strength," she finally says, "and speed. You?"

"Healing and Truthseeing."

So he is a Truthseer. Interesting. Merle will have to watch her thoughts from now on, but working directly under the Goddess has already taught her how to effectively block her thoughts.

"Well," Merle says lightly, "Potent though those skills are, they won't be any good here. You'll have to follow me. I assume you can swim?"

Blake rolls his eyes. "I'm only on the school's swim team."

Infuriated, Merle says, "Look, _Lonan_, we may be the same age and of the same rank up until now, but _I am your superior_. You are _not_ to treat me as your _equal_."

Blake looks just as upset asshe and opens his mouth to speak, but, appearing to think better of it, closes his mouth. "Fine."

They walk in silence for a few minutes, and a wet quality only an underground lake can give fills the air. The humidity reminds Merle of one of her last missions, which had been an absolute disaster. In Atlantis, they had not only failed to gain the sphere, but the Goddess herself had been injured—injured!—by one of the Named. She had come back in disgrace, and was severely punished by Lathenia for not obtaining the sphere. Luckily, Merle was able to continue going on missions and had quickly regained favour with the Goddess. And, of course, She wouldn't forget that she had been influential in the extermination of Octavius.

"Merle."

"What?" she snaps.

Blake gestures to the floor. Water. They're finally there.

"I forgot to tell you one thing, _your highness._"

Merle decides to ignore those last words, highly doubting that Blake actually forgot. "What?"

"When I was Chosen, the Goddess gave me the gift of shape-shifting. I can take the form of any animal I like."

"You're telling me this _now?_" Merle asks incredulously.

Blake just shrugs sullenly.

_Immature fool._

"Whatever," Merle says, thinking quickly. "In any case, that is going to be helpful. You can change into a—" suddenly, she remembers that boy from Atlantis. "—a dolphin, and I can hang on to your fin. You'll have better sight than me in the water."

"Fine."

Smoothly, he leaps into the water, coming up a dolphin.

"Okay Merle," she whispers to herself. "Focus."

She holds on to his fin, hanging on tightly as he takes off, swimming swiftly through the still water. He moves through the water at the surface with enviable speed and precision. Merle hugs the fin for warmth—the cold water is soaking her clothes, seeping into her very bones. Finally, he stops in front of a wall half-covered with water. He looks up at her, his eyes very clearly asking 'what now?'

"We take it."

In a fluid motion, Blake turns back to his human form. Merle blushes, letting go of him quickly.

"_We take it?_ We can't just _take the wall!_"

"My skill is strength, remember? You and I can just hold on to it, and I'll use my wings to get us out."

"Hell, Merle!"

She swims to the wall, feeling with her fingers the ancient runes inscribed on the mammoth wall. Clinging to it with all of her considerable strength, she calls, "You ready? I'm taking this with me, whether you come along or not!"

The sound of splashing water echoes through the cavern. Then a warm hand grabs hers.

"Okay."

"Good. Just close your eyes and concentrate on the palace in the Underworld."

"The Underworld!"

"Yes, so don't get lost. Ready?"

"Mer—as much as I'll ever be."

"It's not my problem if I leave you behind," she warns.

"I'm ready."

"Good." Merle closes her eyes and tightens her grip on both the wall and Blake, visualising the room there. A familiar sensation takes hold of her…beside her, she hears Blake yell and hold her hand even more tightly…a feeling of sluggishness from the wall…

A crash resounds through the darkened room. Merle opens her eyes, grinning in satisfaction. They made it.


	4. Underworld

It's now officially post-Key! This chapter's a _bit_ short, but the next will be nice and long. But don't expect it for...at least a week or two. Sorry. Teachers are NOT conducive to fanfic writing...

Only, Merle, Blake, and the plot belong to me!

Oh, don't own Kingdom Hearts II, either. That would be where the orb idea is from.

* * *

**Chapter Three**

"Now _how_ to translate it?" Blake mutters, pacing the length of the room. Merle stays silent, watching the many orbs that float in the room. Each orb represents an Order member. If the orb glows blue, then the member is alive in the present; if the orb glows purple, then the member is alive in the past; if the orb glows red, then the member is dead; if the orb glows green, then the member has defected to the Guard. Green is expressly reserved for the traitors, which makes sense when Merle thinks about it; both of the Ordersmen who've gone to the Guard in recent years were green-eyed. At present, two orbs are green, sixty-nine orbs are red, and thirty orbs are blue. With a flick of her hand, Merle destroys all of the red ones, as Lathenia had often done. Dead Ordersmen are useless Ordersmen. Of course, this also means that there are only thirty left in the Order. Merle swears softly. The final—or so the Guard thought—battle had killed off most of the Order.

"We need to recruit more," Merle says.

"We need to _kill_ more," Blake corrects. "And we're not going to be able to do any of that unless we can translate this damn Prophecy!"

"Mind your language, Blake," she says with a smirk. "But really…perhaps we should let the Prophecy be for now. We have it in the Underworld, which no Guard would ever suspect. Let's go on a mission, wreak some havoc first. Let's even leave the Chosen alone for now. Except for Midori, who'll need to monitor the sphere and open the portal to the right place and time, as always."

"_Midori_ is Chosen?"

Merle scoffs disbelievingly. "Surely one of the Order's finest, whom Lathenia herself trusted to open the portals would be Chosen!"

"Oh…yes, of course."

_So he doesn't want many others to be Chosen, hm? Or why would he get so worked up over an obvious choice?_

"Besides, maybe if we capture a Guard member, we can get them to translate the Prophecy _for_ us."

"Us?" he asks hopefully.

"Yes, you're going on this mission with me. How about…why don't we…now where was the next time in the past Lathenia wanted to go to?"

"Wasn't it Atlantis?"

"No, we've already been. It was…oh yes! I remember now. Blake, get ready for a mission tonight. Alert the Order to the true state of things—leave out the Chosen and the Prophecy—, and I'll handle getting Midori."

"Okay."

* * *

The moment she arrives home to her one-bedroom apartment, Merle picks up the phone and dials the number. A few rings, then… 

"Hello?"

"Hello, could I please speak to Chloe?"

"This is Chloe, who's this?"

Merle grins. "Don't you recognize the voice of your new leader?"

"Ciara!"

"You heard from Lonan?"

"Yes! It's not over! This is great. What do you need?"

"A trip into the past. I'm thinking circa 1492. Can you do it?"

"Naturally."

Merle fills Chloe in on the details of her plan, grinning at the thought of their imminent victory.


	5. Spain

Hey! Okay, so I lied about this chapter being posted after a few weeks. But the next one really will be.

Hope you like my idea of what the Order's labrynth might be like!

Only Merle, Blake, and the plot belong to me!**

* * *

**

**Chapter Four**

With a soft _thud_, Merle lands in the black labyrinth. The place is eternally dark, thanks to Lorian's theft of the plans for the Bastion—or the Citadel, as he saw fit to rename it. The Bastion, the Hollow…those are some of the names for this space which Lathenia had such high hopes for…

Impatiently, Merle waits for Blake. He has been getting more presumptuous as of late, thinking himself intelligent simply because he is Merle's partner. She will have to show him his place somehow.

"Merle." Blake walks out from behind a wall of the labyrinth.

She raises an eyebrow coolly. "You're late."

"I landed further in the labyrinth by mistake."

"Naturally. A mistake only a beginner would make, by the way. Come on, in any case; time isn't measured here."

She is aware of Blake scowling at her back, but starts into the labyrinth anyway. She turns a corner, and is instantly clothed in attire fitting for a noble lady of Spain: a gown of dark green wool, with emeralds in her ears. Her hair is lightened to a dark brown, and her skin tone has become more olive. She turns another corner and is showered in black dust.

"Blake?"

He arrives a moment after her, clad in a red wool shirt and dark red shirt underneath, with light brown leggings. His blonde hair is kept long and tied back at the base of his skull with a black ribbon that is the exact coal color as his eyes, which stand out against his deathly pale skin. After the black dust falls on him, Merle checks out their identities.

"You are?"

"Christopher, Duke of Wales. And you, my lady?"

"Zinaida, Duchess of Wales, your Spanish wife. We are guests at the court of King Ferdinand and Queen Isabella."

"Indeed. Okay, you ready for this next turn?"

Merle sniffs disdainfully. "_I_, Duke Christopher am _always_ ready."

Together, they walk the length of the "hall" they are in, pausing before the next turn. Then they step forward and fall into the shadows.

Merle and Blake land gracefully—though only from _many_ years of experience—in an abandoned hallway.

"Where are we?" she mutters, forgetting, for a moment, to keep up her omniscient façade.

"Near the front of the castle," Blake replies, sizing up the hallway. "And…we will be dining with the king and queen. Soon."

"So we should probably make for the front now."

"Yeah." As they set off, he asks, "D'you think—" he looks around and lowers his voice "—d'you think _the Guard_ will be here?"

"What, you afraid of a challenge?"

"No!"

"Honestly, I can't say. They may be too busy regrouping to even notice that a portal has opened so soon."

Merle and Blake are greeted by a servant, who leads them to a dining room, where King Ferdinand, Queen Isabella, and other dignitaries are already arrayed around a gargantuan table.

_There are so many…any given one may really be in the Guard._ She sits down warily.

"Duke Christopher, Duchess Zinaida," the queen greets warmly. "So good to have you here today. I was just telling the good Lord Eduardo and Lady Adelina of Portugal here just how much your alliance has meant to us."

"I'm honored, m'lady," Merle says, forcing the perfect amount of humbleness into her voice. Blake starts talking to the king right off, keeping him busy and them in his favor. Carefully, Merle tries to look into the eyes of the Portuguese—who definitely do _not_ exist in history—without being caught. The girl has brown eyes, and the man…he keeps his face turned away. Both of them are sitting at a sufficient distance from Merle that she can't look into their eyes and see their souls' true forms. Lovely. After some time, Lady Adelina carefully brings up the topic of Columbus.

"Oh, that _sailor?_" Queen Isabella laughs. "Well, he certainly has perseverance, and his theories about how to get to India are interesting, but honestly, he's really just a nuisance."

"Too true, m'lady," Merle says in a carefully measured voice. "After all, who can trust a man who claims that _all_ of the royal scholars are wrong about the Earth's measurements?"

"But," Lord Eduardo counters, "he may have a point. The scholars have been wrong before."

Merle lowers her eyes as though suitably put down, though inside she is cursing the misogynistic beliefs of that time period that will not allow her to speak further.

"Perhaps," Queen Isabella says airily. "though, really, Lady Zinaida is certainly correct."

"If I may venture?" Merle asks in a soft voice.

"But of course."

"Surely, that is, if you don't disagree…but perhaps it is time you got rid of him, once and for all. You yourself said that he is a nuisance."

"Of course!" Lady Adelina bursts out. "I mean, I beg pardon…"

"Please go on," the queen says courteously, adding, "I rather think you would reply anyway."

"You are most gracious. I was just thinking that the best way to get rid of Columbus may _be_ to give him his voyage."

_No! I just dug myself a grave a plopped a stone on top!_

"But, _Lady Adelina,_ surely you don't suggest the good queen actually succumbs to the demands of a madman?"

"No, of course not!" the Guard member—for now it's most clear—insists, eyes alight. "But if she were to give him his voyage, then he would be gone, wouldn't he? If he is right somehow and succeeds, then Spain will reap all of the benefits. If he's wrong—well, I doubt you'll ever see him again."

"That is most brilliant, Lady Adelina," Queen Isabella murmurs. "At a comparatively small cost to Spain…yes!"

"Surely you do not take this offer seriously?" Merle asks, panic giving her voice an edge. "My Lady, think of the risks—and how do you know that Portugal is not going to take advantage of this?"

"Why are you so against this, Duchess Zinaida?" Lord Eduardo asks, amusement lacing his voice. "Vested interest, perhaps?"

Now he knows her for what she is!

"I only think for the good of the Spanish Empire! And what an empire it could be, if only foolish ventures such as this did not receive a second thought!"

Catching her impassioned tone, Blake stands quickly. "Indeed! And what are _you_ trying to say, Lord Eduardo? I beg you to not sully my wife's honor!"

"Duke Christopher! Duchess Zinaida!" King Ferdinand says sharply. "What is the meaning of this?"

Blake catches Merle's eyes, and a message passes through: Get out now. Merle and Blake run out of the room, to the protests of the king and queen.

_Curse this heavy dress!_ Even her gift of speed is no match to a heavy wool dress of the 1490s. Footsteps clatter on the stone behind her. Clearly, keeping history right is not enough for the Guard today. Desperately, she tries to keep up with Blake as they make for the spot in which they'd arrived.

_Come on! Just a little farther…_

"Midori!" she hears Blake yell as he leaves without her. How typical.

"Mi—!" she starts to yell, but a hand is thrust over her mouth.

_Not good, not good, not good!_

Fiercely, she struggles against her captor, but he's got both of her hands secured behind her back now with only one of his.

"Have you got her?" a breathless female voice asks from behind her.

"Yes."

"ARKARIAN!" they call at once.

* * *

Yeah, I'm not evil _at all..._


	6. Arkarian's Chambers

Only Merle, Blake, and the plot belong to me! Enjoy!

* * *

**Chapter Five**

When Merle opens her eyes blearily, she knows right away that the Guard has, in fact, captured her. The blindingly white stone walls are one indication. Another would be that her wrists are tied behind her to the white chair she's sitting on.

"Perfect," she mutters.

"Oh, you're up."

Her head shoots up—her spinning eyes curse her stupid instinct to look up whenever being addressed—and she sees an eighteen-year-old with shocking blue hair and bright violet eyes looking at her sternly.

"Arkarian…"

"So you know who I am." Easily, he summons a stool and sits in front of her. "Now who are you?"

"What's it matter?" she asks defiantly. "I'm in the Order; you're in the Guard. So just kill me now."

Arkarian smiles grimly. "I see you are unfamiliar with our practices. No, I won't kill you, and neither will anybody else if you cooperate."

"And why should I? I'm sure you can't understand, but even us _lowly Order members_ know something of loyalty."

"Admirable. So I'm guessing that the Order is, in fact, still quite vital even with the loss of Lathenia."

_Screen your thoughts, screen your thoughts, screen your thoughts! You were prepared for this!_

"If it is or isn't, you'll never find out from me."

"Very well, then—would you at least tell me your name?"

"What! Oh, fine, I guess…they called me Ciara."

"But that's not your true name."

Merle looks up quickly. "What gives you that idea?"

Arkarian grins; Merle blinks, disconcerted. Why is the Guard so…nice? If Merle had been a member of the Guard caught by the Order, she'd already be dead.

"I think there's someone you need to meet." He walks to the door, but pauses. "You seem very…calm. Most likely a high-ranking officer."

_Why the hell are they being so nice! It must be a ploy!_

"Merle?" a voice asks tentatively.

"What the—_Dillon?_"

He's hardly changed physically from their last meeting—same brown hair, vivid green eyes, lopsided smile. But he seems to have changed profoundly in other ways since then.

"I see you're still in the Order," he says ruefully, avoiding her eyes.

"I see _you're_ still a traitor," she says casually.

"Lathenia really got to you, didn't she?" he asks wonderingly, looking Merle right in the eye for the first time. "All this time I'd wondered, but she's really got you convinced."

"You were convinced once, too, Dillon," Merle says softly. "Always railing against your parents—some parents!—and the Guard, but now…"

"I've seen the error of her ways."

"One year with the Guard can't change eleven years of the Order."

"Can't it?"

"No! Have you really forgotten us! Or what drove you to _take me to Lathenia herself!_"

"Dillon?" Arkarian inquires.

"I'm not proud of it," he says quickly.

"Anymore," Merle adds sourly. "Anyway, you've got me, haven't you? Between the two of you—and the more that I suspect are waiting outside—I'm sure you can easily handle a 17-year-old girl."

"Merle," Dillon shakes his head. "That's not the sort of thing the Guard does."

"Then what do you want with me?" she asks, surreptitiously trying to free her hands. Why hadn't Lathenia taught her how to do this?

"I wouldn't bother if I were you," Arkarian says airily. "That rope's been imbued with steel and is as strong as diamonds, so it's not coming off. And doubtless, you've realized that your hands have been tied very tightly. I'm sure Lathenia wouldn't want you to know how to free yourself in case she wanted to use that on you."

"Undoubtably," Merle says wearily before remembering that she was talking to members of the Guard. "What. Do. You. Want?" she repeats slowly.

"Merle," Arkarian says. "Surely you know that you're not in a very good position. It's hardly been two days since the final battle; the Tribunal will not be lenient with you. However…" he casts a side-long glance at Dillon. "there is a way you could make everything easier for yourself."

Merle stays silent, knowing it's in her interest to listen.

"If you see the error of your ways, you _could…_join the Guard."

"Are you crazy!" Merle bursts out. "Why would I do that? I'm loyal the Order and Lathenia only! And even then, why would you trust me? If you were in the Order and I in the Guard, I'd be dead by now!"

"That's the point," Dillon says slowly. "We're the good guys."

_They—they're the "good guys"! What d'they think they're—wait. Ooo…Lathenia always said this was their greatest weakness…and I can _use_ that…_

Merle smiles up at Dillon and Arkarian suddenly, catching them off guard. "Of course…but…no!" Childishly, on an impulse, she sticks her tongue out at Dillon. "Tell me one good reason why I should join the Guard and I will."

"I'm in it." He smiles wanly.

"I said a _good_ reason."

"The Guard—" Arkarian begins.

"No. I want to hear from Dillon."

"Me? Well…" he considers for a moment, clearly weighing different arguments, before looking Merle right in the eye. "We'll never betray you."

"Never?"

_Yeah right_, she thinks, guarding her thoughts carefully.

"No."

"Well…"

"It's a good reason."

"Fine," Merle says slowly. "A promise is a promise. Where can I sign up?"


	7. Tribunal

Thanks to NCCJellybean for inspiration for this chapter!

VERY little belongs to me...sob...

* * *

**Chapter Six**

Brystianne smiles softly as Matt storms into the Tribunal room, fuming. She has always had a bit of a soft spot for the young Immortal (as well as Neriah), partly because the their addition into the Tribunal has made them the youngest on it. For _centuries_, Brystianne has had to put up with endless ribbing by the other Tribunal members for being the newest addition, and how even _Arkarian_ is older than her…

"I don't believe this!" he says as he takes his seat at the center—where Lorian once sat. Brystianne swallows the lump in her throat at the fresh memories, noticing suddenly that Lady Arabella has not come. For the past few days, she has remained in her chambers, inconsolable after Lorian's death.

"What?" Neriah asks innocently.

"Dillon! And Isabel! You know how they went to 1495?"

"I think we all do, Master Matt," Brystianne says in an amused voice. "I seem to recall how we all approved the mission…"

Matt just scowls at her. "Well, they caught an Order member! A high-ranking one, at that!"

A gasp ripples around the room.

"Already?" Lord Alexandron asks.

"Her name's Merle Sullivan. She hasn't told us anything yet, but Arkarian believes she may've been Lathenia's right hand man. Woman."

"And?" Brystianne asks gently, sensing Matt's hesitation.

"And…he and Dillon—who actually knows her—questioned her and somehow seem to have convinced her to join the Guard!"

Lord Penbarin scoffs, cynical as always. "And they believe her? If I got a denarius every time a caught Order member said that—"

"Then you would be unfairly discrediting Dillon and Rochelle," Lady Devine cuts in mildly.

"My dear Lady, Dillon and Rochelle _proved_ themselves," Lord Penbarin shoots back. "And Rochelle, at least, was _Named._ This _Merle_ was caught trying to alter history catastrophically, and has caved under pressure."

"We should at least give her a chance!" Brystianne pipes up. "If she wants to join the Guard, then let her join the Guard. Caved or no, we can still get valuable information out of her."

Lord Penbarin looks at her condescendingly. "Brystianne, I mean no offense when I say this: I have been in the Tribunal for much longer than you have. I was there with Lorian from the start; you are younger than almost everyone here. I have seen Order members come and go. Nine times out of ten, no, more, when an Order member says that, they're just trying to infiltrate the Guard."

"Lord Penbarin, this is an equal Tribunal," Lord Syford says disapprovingly.

"Exactly!" Brystianne says triumphantly. "I think we should let her join. If she's earnest, then _I_'ll be right! If not, then I'll accept the consequences."

"We need a vote on this," Matt says decisively. "All that's necessary is a simple majority either way."

Brystianne swallows, knowing that odds are not on her side. "Fine."

"Lord Penbarin?" he asks.

"Nay!"

"Lord Alexandron?"

"Yea."

Brystianne looks up, elated. _If I'm not the only one…_ She doesn't know why she was fighting so hard for this girl she doesn't even know, but something tells her she should…

"Lady Elenna?"

"Yea."

"Queen Brystianne?"

"Yea!"

"Sir Syford?"

"Nay."

"Lady Devine?"

"Yea."

"I vote nay," Matt says, turning to the last member. "Neriah…?"

Brystianne holds her breath, knowing Neriah is the one who will decide the girl's fate.

Neriah smiles calmly. "You all accepted me, even with my father being who he is…so I say yea."

"O.K." Matt says, looking a little troubled. "Let it be remembered that Lady Arabella, King Richard, and my father are absent. I'll tell them, Arkarian, and Merle the results of this as soon as I leave. But this now leaves a few things to be tended to."

Lord Penbarin "harrumphs" loudly, but otherwise remains silent.

"Queen Brystianne, you are to be with Merle and Arkarian during Merle's debriefing, which will be here, at Athens. A room must be prepared for Merle immediately. Also, a Trainer needs to be chosen for her." Matt hesitates. "I think…it would make sense if…her Trainer ought to be Immortal…just in case. That means it will be one of…us."

"I think it should be Brystianne, if she's so eager," Lord Penbarin says.

"Brys—Queen Brystianne?" Matt asks.

"Well," Brystianne starts, but is interrupted by Neriah.

"I want to do it."

"What? Neriah, she's high-risk—"

"Like I was."

"And has bad ties—"

"Like I do—did."

"And would be _very, very_ dangerous to Train—"

"Matt, I'm Immortal."

"And, and…"

"Please?"

One look in her eyes and he's _gone_. "Well, O.K."


	8. Athens

**Chapter Seven**

_Well, these people certainly are…trusting…_

Arkarian smiles at Merle reassuringly as she inspects the—surprise, surprise—white room she is standing in. "It's a precautionary measure, Merle. Everyone who defects to the Guard has to stay in Athens to be debriefed."

"But it's so…"

"White?"

"I was going to say colour-less." Merle says. Arkarian had gotten suspicious when he couldn't hear _any _of her thoughts, so now Merle makes a point of letting a few slip through every so often. Only pointless thoughts, of course. She's also dropping her omniscient façade around him—for now, anyway. Unfortunately, just looking into his eyes makes her defenses drop. Something about him makes her want to trust him fully. And his looks don't hurt, either. Wait, no. _No._ He's something like six hundred years her senior.

_Bad Merle! Evil thoughts! No, actually, _evil_ thoughts are preferable to these…_

She fights the blush rising in her pale cheeks. "Um, can't I, I dunno, decorate or something?" she asks, glad her voice is staying steady.

"No fair!"

Merle winces. "Bas—Dillon, you're so loud!"

"No, really," he insists, walking through the door. "Your room is nicer than mine! It has a bigger bed, and a comfy chair, and a chest, and—is that a _T.V.?_"

Arkarian shrugs, grinning. "Not quite. It can watch mortal activities on Earth. But it does have games and movies, I've heard."

"_What? Why?_"

"Because I'm _special_," Merle says smugly. "And better than you."

"Oh yeah?" Dillon strides over to where she's standing; Merle watches warily. Suddenly, he lunges at her.

"_Dillon!_" she screeches, laughing, as he tickles her. "_Get off!_"

"Hah!" he says triumphantly. "Ticklish as ever." He turns to Arkarian. "I'm serious, you just touch her _arm_, and she'll start giggling."

"Not true!" she argues before he starts tickling her again. "_No-fair-you're-not-ticklish!_"

Arkarian hangs back, obviously amused. "Well, I need to get back to my chambers…coming, Dillon?"

"No chance! I haven't tickled her in _years!_"

"OK. Well, you know what to tell her, right?"

"Yeah."

"_Arkarian!_" Merle screams. "_A-little-help-would-be-appreciated!_"

"Nah, me and _Primmy _over here will be fine."

Merle glares at him. "Don't. You. Dare. Go. There."

"What's wrong, _Primrose?_" Dillon asks tauntingly.

"Argh, I _hate_ my first name!" Merle says, frustrated. "You _know_ not to call me that!"

"Primrose?" Arkarian asks. "Your name is Primrose Merle Sullivan?"

"I _HATE _YOU, DILLON!"

"But, _Primmy_…"

Arkarian grins at the murderous look in Merle's eyes.

"Well, at least _I'm _not afraid of the dark," she says matter-of-factly.

"I—you—I'm not—" Dillon splutters, going red.

Merle grins, sensing victory.

"At least _I'm_ not afraid of tomatoes!"

"Dillon!" she says, shocked. "Fine. You want dirt? You've got it. At least _I'm_ not afraid of riding in hot-air balloons."

"At least I've never tripped over my own two feet!"

"At least I've never bashed in a wall on accident!"

"At least I've never slipped walking out the front door!"

"At least I've never messed up a mission!"

"At least I've never been caught by the other side!"

"At least I've never cried at the sight of snow!"

"Snow?" Arkarian interjects, an eyebrow raised.

"I was three! I was scared! And at least I'm not named Primrose!" Dillon adds.

"At least I—"

"Well," Arkarian mutters, "_this_ is going to be interesting…"

* * *

I think I might start putting author's notes on the bottom from now on. Well, as you know, only Prim--_Merle_ belongs to me! Arkarian/Isabel fans, never fear, I'm not messing with that _at all_. 

A short chapter, but one that develops Merle a bit more, methinks.


	9. Still Athens

**Chapter Eight**

"Oh _Merle…_" a voice calls in an annoying sing-song.

"Go away," she replies churlishly, staring up at the ceiling of her room.

"Is anything the matter?" Dillon asks innocently

"Just that I _hate_ you, Dillon."

He considers. "Oh. Okay. Nothing new."

"Not at all. What are you _doing_ here?"

"Just giving you company."

"I don't _need_ your company." Merle replies, still not looking at him.

"Funny, Ethan said you said the same thing."

"Why'd he come, anyway?" She wondered aloud. "Shouldn't he hate me? One of ours killed his father—almost—, his sister, and that girl, Rochelle."

"I don't know," Dillon shrugs. "Said something about owing it to Rochelle, 'cause she defected but never felt trusted."

"Whatever," Merle declares, though inside she is wondering at that. It's so…nice. What happened to the evil Guard Lathenia warned her against?

"Arkarian said you also turned him away, Queen Brystianne, and Neriah."

"Stupid people. Can't they see I'm antisocial?"

"The Merle I remember wasn't."

"Well, I've _changed_ since then, Dillon."

"I've noticed," he says simply, leaning on the doorframe to her room. He suddenly grins wickedly. "Like your _hair?_"

"Hair?" she asks, not catching on.

"You don't remember?" He acts hurt. "Not those _lovely_, light golden locks of yours I used to love?"

"Argh! I _hated _my hair! And my name! Hell, Dillon, isn't there somewhere you should be? Like, _away_ from here?"

He shrugs. "Not really. School's already over, and the Order hasn't made any moves yet."

"No? I would've thought they'd already replaced me."

"Guess not."

Little does Dillon or any Guardian of Time know, Merle had already made arrangements for an emergency. Lonan should have taken over and started preparing for a mission. As soon as Merle is let out back to the present, she can alert him to the Guard's next mission, and—voila!—the Named can be exterminated and she freed. Of course, no one knows of this, and Merle has kept her thoughts away from those plans, just in case.

"So…how'd your debriefing go?"

"Fine," she replies dully. "There wasn't much to tell after all the information you and Rochelle gave. Just questions about Order activities—not that there've been any."

"Right."

"Hey, Dillon?" she asks suddenly, turning on her side to face him. "What day is it? How much time has passed since—you know—you guys captured me?"

"Um…" he thinks. "Around…a month? Almost two."

"_Two months? Are you serious?_"

He grins. "What, too long for you?"

"But—how—?" she splutters. Obviously, time isn't measured in Athens, but still!

"Anyway, I was sent to tell you something."

"Being?"

"The Tribunal has decided to let you go back to the present."

She sits up. "Really? _When?_"

"Tomorrow."

"_Tomorrow?_ Finally! Yes!" She jumps up off of her bed and hugs Dillon. "Wow! Thanks!"

"Um…Merle?"

She opens her eyes suddenly. _Oh, hell._ "Ew!" She pushes him off quickly, closing the door behind him.

_What was _that?

* * *

Sorry for the probably sucky, very unbetaed chapter. Very dialogue-heavy, just developing Merle and her relationship with Dillon a bit more. BUT! Soon, very soon, you'll get to see blonde Primrose... 

And only Merle belongs to me.


	10. Decisions

**Chapter Nine**

"A mission? So soon?" Queen Brystianne asks worriedly, brushing back a few strands of her flaxen hair.

Lord Penbarin smirks at her condescendingly. "Are you pulling out _now_?"

"No! But we mustn't rush things either. She's hardly received any Training yet."

Matt shrugs. "Well, Neriah just met to talk to her and said that Prim—Merle doesn't really need any more Training, 'cause she'd been the Order for so long."

"So _you're sending her on a mission?_" Sir Syford asks, appalled. "We don't even know for sure yet if she is to be trusted!"

Lady Arabella unexpectedly giggles. "Well, the fact that she's Dillon's soul-mate ought to be enough proof…"

"What—" Brystianne starts.

"No, it's got to be Ethan!" Lady Devine argues. "_He_ certainly seems to have taken a fancy to the girl…she _is_ pretty enough, after all."

"How do you know?" Brystianne asks.

The whole Tribunal (save she, Neriah, and Matt) laugh.

"Isn't it _obvious_?" Lady Elenna asks wonderingly. "The way they act around each other! Just like Isabel and Arkarian!"

"Can you _believe_ we actually put bets on when they'd get together?" Lady Arabella laughs.

_No one told me about this…_

There's a pause. Then:

"50 denarii on two weeks for her and Dillon!" Lady Elenna declares.

"_60_ denarii on two _months_ on her and Ethan!" Lady Arabella says shrilly.

"Wait…don't you all feel bad, betting on their happiness?" Brystianne asks wonderingly.

Another pause.

"No."

"Not really."

"_Anyway_," Matt says in a would-be authoritative voice. "Should we go ahead and send her on her first mission?"

"I still say it's too early!" Queen Brystianne argues. "We don't want to overwhelm the poor girl!"

"But we should!" Lord Penbarin argues. "This will give her a chance to show her true colours, for once and for all. We can send a large group, just in case."

"Making us all the more obvious to the Order!"

"Wait," Neriah says. Although her voice is soft and gentle, it carries throughout the room. "I think she, Ethan, and I should go. Her old, strong ties to the Order should help us with this mission. I can go, as her Trainer, and Ethan…I think it'd be good for him. Besides, his instincts, skills of animation, and illusion are unparalleled."

"Lady Neriah…it's so risky."

"I think we can risk it. It's only exterminating the rest of the Order. Both Keziah and Lathenia are dead, so I think we shouldn't have to fear a few ordinary people."

"…I suppose," Sir Syford says unwillingly.

Most of the Tribunal members are nodding, albeit grudgingly.

"Fine," Matt says. "Let's contact Arkarian."

* * *

O.o Merle on a mission? That can't be good...

Only Merle and Blake belong to me!


	11. Mission

**Chapter Ten**

Everything is ready. The second Merle arrived home for the first time, she called Blake to tell him everything.

_"Good. But what took you? I was getting worried."_

_She rolled her eyes. "Just their stupid debriefing process so I can 'join' the Guard. They kept me in Athens and interrogated me."_

_"I can't believe they're so stupid," he said wonderingly._

_"Well, they're too trusting. They actually think there's _good _in everyone! The thought!"_

_Blake chuckled. "Trusting, stupid, it's all the same. So, are you going on a mission yet? Or is it too soon?"_

_"Well, that girl who was assigned to Train me—Neriah, one of the Named—has been thoroughly convinced by me that I don't _need_ any Training, which is true. I can contain my powers perfectly well. So it should be soon, once you lot open a portal first..."_

The next day, Merle had had the pleasure of calling Blake _again_ to tell him:

_"You told Midori to open that portal, didn't you?" she asked._

_"Is there a problem?"_

_"Stroke of brilliance, more like."_

_"I know." He replied smugly. "It's about time I saw you again."_

_"Blake, you _know_ it'd look suspicious if—"_

_"Which is why I had to portal opened. Don't underestimate me."_

_She laughed. "Never."_

_"I take it we won't be able to talk again until then?"_

_"'Fraid not. See you then."_

_"Definitely."_

Merle sits on her quilted blanket nervously, kicking her legs against the bed. Neriah had said that she needs to be asleep by 8:00. She glances at the clock again: 7:58. But she can't sleep! _Am I nervous? But I've been on so many missions before! Or…do I feel bad? Is that it? But how could I?_

_Because they trust you,_ a nagging voice in her head reminds her.

_How? I was—am—a top-ranking member! How could they…_

_Because they do. They're the good guys._

_Good guys! They killed Lathenia! Luke! Saryn! _

_They were only trying to protect history._

_But…but…we're just trying to fix the world! Look at how messed up it is!_

_And just_ why, _do you think, is that?_

_Could it really be…us?_

Strangely, it's those last thoughts that linger in her head, making her fall asleep…

A lovely feeling of weightlessness fills her, then…

_Thud._

"OW!"

Soft giggles meet Merle's ears as she opens her eyes. "Neriah," she grumbles.

"I'm sorry! But—you—the floor—it's so!"

"Yeah, yeah," she mumbles, picking herself of off the floor. It's then that she notices the room they're in. It seems like a lovely forest glade, by a crystal river, but at the same time, a light mist is filling the room.

"Wow…"

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" Neriah asks, walking over to Merle gracefully. "But mist…that's strange…" she wrinkles her delicate nose. "That signifies…I can't remember exactly…but something like clouding of the senses, confusion, misplaced trust. Strange…"

Merle gulps nervously. "I…guess…"

Neriah shakes her head, smiling. "But enough of that! I trust you remember what we went over for the Citadel?"

"Yes…but wait," Merle says as a thought strikes her. "Wasn't the Citadel destroyed?"

"Yes. But the Tribunal's combined powers were enough to restore it."

_So quickly…they're so…formidable…_

Neriah smiles at Merle's stray thought. "They're really all quite nice. Now follow me."

She leads Merle out of the lovely room into another, which is full of medieval French clothes for the mission.

"Neriah? Primrose?"

Merle stiffens as Neriah, giggling softly, says, "Over here, Ethan."

A tall, dark-haired boy with piercing blue eyes emerges from the racks of clothing. "Hello," he says with a small smile. "Ready to go to France?"

"Hi, I'm _Merle_," Merle responds woodenly.

"Merle?" he asks, confused. "I thought they said—"

"_Call me Merle._"

"O...kay. So, ladies first," he gestures at the racks.

"Go ahead, Merle," Neriah says.

"Um. Right. Just walk through?"

"Yeah."

Merle walks through apprehensively; when she comes out, she finds herself in a rough, brown cotton top that loosely fits, a similar long skirt, and simple sandals. Her hair is now a light, reddish-auburn, and it flows down to her waist; her skin is brown, like she's been in the sun a lot.

Neriah comes out next. She's clad in a top and skirt similar to Merle's, both of which are gray, but seem to be of a slightly finer material that Merle's outfit. She's also browner, with matching rough, calloused hands. Her normally soft features are harsher, too, suitable for a French peasant.

Finally, Ethan comes out. He is wearing matching beige trousers, vest, and shirt, with the shirt sleeves rolled up. He looks now as though he spends a lot of time in the sun, his brown hair lightened with strands of almost-blonde. "Not bad," he jokes, looking at Merle and Neriah. "Although I have to say, I do prefer your souls' true forms."

"Oh, shush, Ethan," Neriah chides. "Merle must be nervous."

Merle just smiles—nervously.

"All right, all right…ready for the next room, then?"

They all troop to the next room, where they're all sprinkled with multi-coloured dust. Surprisingly, Merle suddenly feels much more comfortable in the get-up, her nervousness starting to dissipate.

"I am Dione, a simple farmer of the Barrois countryside. And you two?"

"Cosette," Merle says tentatively. "Your—oh!" she blushes.

"What is it?" Neriah asks.

"The Citadel," Ethan simply grins.

"Your…fiancée…" Merle finishes, barely audibly.

"Ah. And I'm Zoë, your loving sister, Etha—Dione." Neriah finishes, with an elegant curtsey. "OK, Merle,"she says. "Now we leap."

"Le—leap? You never mentioned leaping," Merle accuses.

"Didn't I?" Neriah asks. "I thought I did…"

"I forgot to tell Isabel that, too," Ethan points out thoughtfully. "You just get so used to it, I guess."

"But…" _I don't like heights. I _don't_ like heights. At least in the labyrinth, it's more of a trapdoor than anything else…_

Neriah smiles gently at Merle's nervous thoughts. "Don't worry about it, Merle. It's not that bad, promise."

"I'm not afraid!" Merle says defensively.

Ethan chokes, coughing very…fakely, a huge grin on his face. Merle scowls at him.

"Well, anyway," Neriah says hurriedly, "we _do_ need to get going. Time isn't measured in this place."

Grudgingly, Merle follows Neriah and Ethan into yet another room. It's mostly empty, save for a large door on the opposite wall, which is wide open. She gulps. Through it, she can see only swirling mist and shadows.

_Oh the _joy_…_

"Ready?" Neriah asks, walking over to the doorstep.

"Just close your eyes and jump," Ethan offers helpfully.

"Right."

Neriah smiles encouragingly before jumping through the doorway.

"Do you want me to jump with you?" Ethan asks worriedly, noticing Merle's frozen state.

"Erm. No." She says slowly, thankful that her tan hides her blush.

"Then…why aren't you moving?"

"I'm…waiting for you to jump."

"So you _want_ to go last."

"Yes," Merle says defiantly.

"Sorry, no can do. You can't run away."

"I won't run."

"Then jump."

"I need to collect myself for—AHHHHHH!" she screams, as Ethan _pushes_ her through the door.

* * *

Only Merle and Blake belong to me! Oh NO...what are those two up to now? 


	12. France

**Chapter Eleven**

_Thwonk._

Merle hits the ground _hard_, and right on her bum.

"I _HATE_ you, Ethan," she growls, standing up slowly.

"I'm honoured," Ethan replies, landing smoothly—right on his feet—in front of her.

"What did Dione do this time?" Neriah asks innocently.

"Well, _Zoë_, he pushed me through!"

"Oooh, good idea, Dione!"

"I thought so," he grins.

"You are so _infuriating!_" Merle half-shrieks, gesturing wildly with her arms.

"Now, now, Cosette, you need to keep your temper," Ethan says placatingly, "Or you'll draw unfavourable attention to us."

"Unfav—oh."

In the distance, a man is approaching the three; he is walking quickly, as though afraid of losing them.

"Great…" she hisses, letting out a slow breath. "What now?"

Ethan shrugs, unconcerned. "We let him find us and hope he's not in the Order."

"Lovely. And if he is?"

"We fight him."

She rolls her eyes. This…_Ethan_…is so lax! Order missions are planned out to the last second.

The tall, rough-looking peasant man approaches the trio. "Are you travelers?" he calls in French.

"Yes, sir," Ethan replies swiftly. "We are cousins of Jeanne D'arc. Would you know where she lives?"

"_Dione?_" the man asks incredulously. At Ethan's emphatic nod, his face splits into a grin. "Cosette! Zoë! How good to see you! We weren't expecting you for a day, yet!"

Ethan matches the peasant's grin. "Jacques! Passage was safer than we expected! It's good to see you again!"

"Come," Jacques says warmly. "Isabelle is getting dinner ready."

Ethan, Neriah, and Merle follow him down the hill to the small D'arc home. While not expensive, it exudes a certain lovely hominess.

"I will tell Isabelle that you have arrived! Jeanne should be in the back," Jacques informs them as he heads into the house.

"Thank you for your kindness," Merle says courteously as they head out back.

"Jeanne?" Neriah calls timidly. "Are you back here?"

"Mama?" A young girl pokes her head out from a high tree branch, shaking down some leaves. "Oh! It's you! Finally!" She smiles cheekily.

Merle can't help but stare. Jeanne D'Arc, the girl destined to lead France to victory against England, only to be burned at the stake and later made a saint…is kind of scrawny, with long girly brown hair. Small brown eyes look out of her thin tanned face.

"Oh, _Merle!_"

She turns, surprise and dread mounting in her chest. _He wasn't supposed to have come out yet._ "Blake."

"Blake?" Neriah queries softly.

"Wasn't he your partner from the _Order?_" Ethan demands.

"_Was?_" scoffs Blake, laughing. "That's a good one. I _am_ her partner. You've done a good job, Merle. But it's time you show them your true colours."

"Merle?" Neriah asks, stunned. "Are you…_really?_"

"No…" Merle moans softly. Or maybe? What is she? She's not a Guardsman, but she doesn't quiet feel like one of the Order anymore, either.

As though reading her thoughts—which he probably was—Blake walks up to her, a pleading expression on his face. "Ciara…Merle…won't you come back with me?"

Four more Order members appear out of nowhere, engaging Ethan and Neriah in battle, but Merle stands frozen as Blake comes closer to her, taking her hand.

"Come away with me," he softly urges. "Let's go. You're not in the Guard, not really, and as for the Order…well, who cares? Come with me."

"Blake…why are you—" Merle starts, but is interrupted.

Because he's kissing her.

She freezes. She would pull away, but she can't. Or won't? A curious feeling fills her stomach, and her knees go weak; her legs feel like jelly. Her mind is running madly in circles. When he finally pulls away, she feels strangely dizzy.

"Blake…" she whispers, grabbing a hold of his arm for support as she sinks to the ground. "What the hell?"

"Just so you know, I've always liked you, Merle," he whispers into her ear gently. "You were always strong, powerful." He lets go of her, watching with satisfaction as she sinks to all fours, arms wobbling drunkenly. "But all the same…I'm sorry. All's fair in love and war, right? It's about time I got my dues. See you later," he adds mockingly, kicking one of her arms out from under her.

As he walks away, the full impact of his actions hits her. It's so ludicrous, really, that she would laugh if she could. _Poison._ Lathenia's own apprentice was undone by a poisoned kiss. Blake had used the oldest and most devious trick in the book.

_Perhaps caring does make you weak,_ she considers as she finally collapses onto the ground._ I guess Lathenia was right about that…_

Merle thinks she hears Ethan's voice—or maybe it's Neriah's, she's having trouble telling—and what about Jeanne? Is she okay? She'd check herself, but she can't, of course, and somehow everything seems overloud and blurry. And she's wrecked it for the Guard _and_ the Order, because Blake was never much of a leader, the conniving little prat…

_I'm sorry…_she thinks weakly as her consciousness finally, mercifully, slips away.

* * *

Nothing belongs to me! Wow. The wait for this chapter was ridiculous. It was hard to write, and I had **so** much going on, and--well, instead of wasting time explaining, I'll go write the next chapter! 


	13. Grey Realms

**Chapter Twelve**

_Searching…_

Everything is so grey. I blink, brushing back some of my tangled, light hair. I wonder why it's tangled. It's not like I really ever cared about it—or did I? I'm not sure. I look down at myself, to see if that would help. I'm barefoot, and in a pure white dress. For some reason I smile, amused at the irony. Irony of what? Like I know.

_Need to find it…_

Something tugs me forward a little, a long-lost instinct, perhaps. I feel like I have to keep moving, somehow. How strange.

_Can't stop searching…_

I start walking in that direction, keeping my eyes wide open for whatever I need to find. I feel a little empty, somehow. Like I'm missing something, or someone. Maybe I'm lost. Or is this home? I would hope that my home's a bit more…colourful.

* * *

"Why the hell aren't we doing anything?!" Dillon yells, furious. 

"Calm down, Dillon; we have to think rationally."

"To hell with rationality! Every minute we waste here, Merle is _dying!_"

"Don't be so melodramatic," Arkarian scolds. "She hardly has any kind of affiliation with the light, so we needn't rush."

Lady Brystianne bites her lip worriedly, torn. While she desperately wants to believe in Merle, her last moments were hardly going to work in her favor. At the same time…something about it seemed off. Neriah and Ethan, the witnesses, weren't condemning her, now were they? Granted, they had yet to speak, but their thoughts were unguarded. Immediately after securing Jeanne's safety, Ethan and Neriah had rushed back to the Citadel, where a horrified but calm Arkarian was already gathering the Named and the Tribunal.

"Look at this logically," Arkarian explains. "We have no reason to trust her!"

Ethan was appalled. "Are you actually suggesting we let her _die_?"

"_You _saw what she did!" Matt shot back. "How could you defend her?"

"She was just as surprised as Ethan and me," Neriah interjected softly.

"You heard the boy," Lord Penbarin spat. "They planned it."

"I heard her thoughts!" Neriah insisted. "She was shocked! She wanted to stop him!"

"To save herself, no doubt."

"Are you going to take an Order member's word over a Guardsman's?" Ethan demands.

* * *

_Alone…_

It's funny. I've been walking for ages, but I don't feel tired at all. Or maybe I haven't been walking for long at all. It's hard to tell. But…I think I see something on the horizon now. A river? Something's there…

* * *

"To hell with this!" Dillon says suddenly. "I'm not waiting on all of you! Ethan, you said we can do something?" 

Ethan glances at Arkarian briefly. "We can get her soul back."

"No." But he looked pained.

"Arkarian."

"Ethan, you know I can't without the Tribunal's permission, or else I would."

"That's right!" Lord Penbarin approved.

"I'm going anyway."

"If he goes, I go," Ethan adds.

"You don't have approval." Matt reasserts.

* * *

_Keep looking…_

For some reason, I don't feel alone anymore. I wonder why not? The air actually seems warmer somehow. I look around, but I don't see anything.

"_Primrose!_"

Someone's calling…? Calling me…?

"_Primrose! Merle!_"

I turn around—and that's when I see him. It's _him_, who's looking for me and calling me. I see a flash of dark hair; I know exactly who he is. My soul's true other! He looks relieved, now that he has my attention.

"Come on, let's go back."

Back? Where? Ah well, I'll go wherever he asks me to. He turns to the space next to him, saying something about a Tribunal. Huh. But after a second, he grabs my hand and calls:

"Shaun!"

* * *

Back! Who is her soul-mate? Mwahaha...read on, and you'll see. 

Only Merle belongs to me!


	14. Healing Chambers

**Chapter Thirteen**

"Merle? Primrose? Merle?"

She moans, not opening her eyes yet. "Dillon?"

"I'm here," he responds quickly.

"I'll kill you if you ever call me Primrose again."

To her surprise, he _laughs._ Crazy traitor-boy. But what she's trying to focus on is why her head is throbbing—though that pain is fading—and why she's lying down.

_What happened?_

Then it hits her. The mission to France! Blake showed up too early…and …the prick betrayed her!

She sits up suddenly, opening her eyes in shock. She is in _big_ trouble. Luckily, only Dillon, Ethan, and Neriah are in the room with her at the moment.

"Is Jeanne okay?" she blurts out. Jeanne? Since when is _Guard business_ her first interest after possibly waking from the dead?

Ethan and Neriah glance at each other triumphantly.

"She's fine," Neriah assures her. "Are _you_ okay?"

"I'll live…I think. Or I guess I already have?" Merle shakes her head distractedly. Stupid muddled thoughts. Still, one thing is clear. "Though Blake won't," she growls.

"We can make sure of _that_," Dillon says darkly, surprising her. Why would he care? Actually…wait a second…

"Didn't I _die?_" she asks suddenly. "Blake…the poison…my first kiss…that whole thing…"

"It was poison?" Ethan asks.

"That was your first kiss?" Dillon demands at the same time.

Merle smiles slightly, in spite of herself. "Yes and yes. Jerk. Couldn't have even tried to kill me with my second kiss."

"That would explain a lot…" Neriah trails off thoughtfully.

"But didn't I?" Merle repeats.

"Yes…" Ethan says unwillingly. "But Dillon and I came to get your soul from the Middle Realm."

So she really _did_ die. But she is alive. _That _will take some getting used to. It makes sense, though, in a strange sort of way. She feels changed. Like she'd…_left_… one person and woke up another. Her priorities are surprisingly straight to her.

One: Exterminate Blake

Two: Leave the whole business of the Guard and Order and move away

Three: Live a normal life

That is really all she wants right now. Merle sighs. Too bad the Guard would probably exterminate _her_ first. This is going to be complicated. She suddenly notices that Ethan and Dillon are looking at her strangely.

"_What?_"

"Don't you want to know?" Dillon bursts out.

"Know what?" she asks blankly.

"…who your soul-mate is?" Ethan suggests.

_Not really._ "What does that have to do with anything?"

"You don't _know_?"

"Know _what?_"

"That only your soul-mate can get you from the Middle Realm!"

Oh yeah. Whoops. She totally knew that, really.

"I kind of have more important things on my mind," she snaps, embarrassed.

So it's either Ethan or Dillon. That is a somewhat…surprising revelation. "Well? Out with it."

Ethan and Dillon share an apprehensive look before the former opens his mouth…

"_What the hell?!_" Merle shrieks a moment later, after Ethan finishes explaining. "_No!_ No! I refuse!"

"You can't just _refuse_, Merle," Ethan comments lightly.

"Like _hell_ I can't!"

"Well, if Isabel or Neriah couldn't manage it, I don't see how you can," Dillon points out.

"Do I _look _like Isabel or Neriah?!"

"No, actually, you're prettier."

"Can you not be serious for _five seconds_?"

"I am serious!"

"And so am I!" Merle declares. "_I refuse._"

"Merle," Neriah starts comfortingly, though she's cut off by Dillon storming out of the room.

A moment later, what suspiciously sounds like a wall being broken and falling in upon itself fills the otherwise silent room. Merle rolls her eyes, while Ethan and Neriah appear more sympathetic—though towards whom is questionable.

"So, what, is now when the Tribunal kills me for betraying you lot?" she asks finally, trying to hide her genuine apprehension.

"You _did_ betray us?" Neriah gasps.

"Would you believe me, even if I say I didn't mean to?" Merle queries flatly.

"Yes," Ethan answers loyally.

"Didn't think so—wait, yes?"

"I heard your thoughts, Merle," the Immortal informs her gently.

_The one time I don't shield my thoughts…_

"When you're feeling a little stronger, you'll have to tell the Tribunal what really happened."

"Oh, joy."

It's as though they have to burden her with everything the second she woke up. Couldn't they give her a little time? Merle wonders. It isn't enough that Dillon's her soul-mate? That she might actually be okay with it? Or even that he can never know, in case Blake decides to try to hurt her through him?

* * *

Nothing belongs to me!! Sorry for the wait. 


End file.
